Ganbaru 頑張る! (Ch.1)

05 Mar 2014 7 Comments

by Suelinhess in adventures, Bitching & Moaning, Breast Cancer, Cancer, confidence, Faith, Family, Friendship, Healing, humor, illness, Lent, Love, Medical, Roman Catholic, support, Uncategorized Tags: , ,

(Facebook post from March 2014)

I learned a few new words today. The first words were Infiltrating Duct Adenocarcinoma. In layman’s terms, it means breast cancer. Words that I have dreaded for 30 years since my mom was diagnosed while I was in high school. Statistics told me that the chances of it striking me if my 2nd-degree relatives (grandmother, Aunt Barby) had it, are higher than average. Statistics told me that the chances of it striking me when a first-degree relative (Mom) had it, are even higher. I think my sisters and I held our breaths for years, waiting for one of us to come forward with the awful news because when you have our family history and you add a sister with breast cancer on top of that? It’s like really bad compound interest on a maxed out credit card; you’re probably going to get a call from that creditor for payment … So a few days before Valentine’s Day, I felt the lump, and the first thought was, “Oh no, JoJo and Annie…”

As I was out of town enjoying the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had, I ignored that lump like it was a whining child in the backseat of the car. I would deal with it when I got back home. As soon as I came home, I saw our family doctor and he sent me straight to Edmonton for a mammogram/ultrasound. My furry man (Markus, my husband) and I kept telling each other, “This could be nothing. Let’s not freak out until someone officially tells us to freak out.” I called my Aunt Barby, since she has been a survivor for 14 years, and she briskly told me, “Now, don’t you go hanging crepe, Sue. Even if the worst is confirmed, so much has advanced in breast cancer treatment in the last 14 years. You can do this. You hang tough and you don’t forget to look out for your furry man. After all, you’re a Hess and you are Hess Tough. He has a slight disadvantage.”

Although there are many critics of some of the wait times in a national healthcare system, it is almost a magical thing to see how quickly people can move in such a system, when things are urgent, here in Alberta. I went in for a mammogram/ultrasound (normally several weeks – months wait), and after a closer look, they asked me to overnight in the city and come in first thing in the morning for a core needle biopsy (normally a few weeks’ waiting time) on the lump and a surprise lymph node that looked “suspicious.” I turned to the radiologist and asked in a shaky voice, “May I see what you see on the ultrasound? Why do you think it’s suspicious looking?” She obliged, showing me the lump, which looked icky and alien, and the lymph node, which turned out to look EXACTLY like the Death Star, I kid you not, complete with the narrow alley that Luke Skywalker had to fly through to blow up the place. I thanked her and held it together until I reached the parking lot and melted into a blubbering mess behind my steering wheel while on speaker phone with Markus. After soothing me and letting me cry for a while, he waited until I calmed down a bit and said one very true thing, “Honey, we have been waiting for this for years, haven’t we? We always knew that this might come up, with your genes. Now that the moment is possibly here, I know we can do this together. Our family can do anything.” So I went back to the hotel room and for the first time in my life, raided the Honour Bar in the room. I binged on Pringles and chocolate and ordered cheese from Room Service. Then I went to bed at 5pm to try to sleep away the time until my morning appointment with the giant needles. Had the craziest dreams from the chips, cheese, and chocolate, and woke up completely unrefreshed.

The needles were super big AND they had a spring-loaded trigger that reached out a mini-claw to snip off core samples of the lump and lymph node. I swear the trigger snapped exactly like my automatic cookie press at home. Each “SNAP” made me jump, and when the radiologist, Dr. Ling, muttered, “darn it” I knew she would have to try again. She apologized and said, “I’m so sorry. I need 4 core samples from each site and these tumours and lymph nodes don’t just sit there nicely. They’re slippery little suckers…like..like…” and I blurted out, “Like bubble tea taro bubbles?” She burst out laughing and said, “YES, EXACTLY! I have never thought of that comparison, but they are JUST like bubble tea…now I don’t know if I ever will drink bubble tea again…” So laughing together and with me doing my Lamaze breathing to stop panicking, I got through that procedure. We taped up the two little tunnels in my breast and armpit, and I drove 4 hours home into the arms of my loving family.

At first, I thought I would wait to tell the kids anything, only sharing if the news was bad. But I made it back home in time to pick them up from school, and Hanna and Simon immediately started to cry, and asked me, “Mama, are you going to die?” I guess not knowing CAN be much worse than knowing. And they jumped to the worst case scenario when they found out I had to stay overnight in the city for more testing. So I decided to tell them absolutely everything. Of course, I had to give them the all the possibilities, which did include possible death, but considering I’ve been having annual mammograms since I was 30, the tumour could only be, at most, a year old. And I caught that sucker all by myself in a self-exam. And I reminded them, I am Hess Tough. We had a big cry and a big hug, and luckily, they went back to being normal children.

The last week has been miserable, waiting and wondering. I used the time to read up on anything I could find about all the possible outcomes, all the types of breast cancer, all the potential treatments. I tried in vain to find cases of a negative biopsy on both a tumour and a lymph node. The very worst part of all was not telling anyone. I didn’t want to worry my dad if it turned out to be benign, I didn’t want to put my sisters into a panic, I didn’t want to burden friends, and even though I am the first to share everything with friends and family on Facebook, I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud.

Normally I give up Facebook for Lent. Yesterday, I realized with a start, “TOMORROW IS ASH WEDNESDAY.” How was I supposed to go through this ordeal in this Godforsaken place, with most of my friends and family so far away, without my touchstone? With Facebook, I log in and see that you’ve had your morning coffee, that you share my teenager problems, that you laugh at the jokes I love, and that you care about me. I have conversations and I give sympathy or lend a helpful shoulder for anyone to cry on. It could be 3am here in Canada, but my friends in Taiwan, my cousins, friends, and sister in Australia, my old friend in Turkey, and my other loved ones around the world might be awake to have a chat. For the first time, I realize that this would be the wrong Lent to take a Facebook hiatus. This would be the time I would need my friends the most. I bargained with myself, “If the news is good, I’ll give up my FB connections for Lent. If the news is bad, I’m going to ask my friends and family to lend me their shoulders.”

So here I am, on Ash Wednesday, letting you know that you won’t be getting a Lenten break from Suzy Creamcheese this year. One of my closest friends, Laurie, called me from Arizona tonight, marveling, “Sue, what timing you have. Here we are on Ash Wednesday, getting ready to begin a spiritual Lenten Journey, and you have ahead of you the biggest journey of all. Don’t forget that you are not alone, that you can glean strength from all those who love you, and from your faith.” And then I started reading some more and I learned the best new word of all: Ganbaru (頑張る). It’s a Japanese word which some say means “to do one’s best.” But to the Japanese people, it means more than that. It means to do more than survive; it means to “commit oneself fully to a task and to bring that task to an end.” And I hope my furry man, my sweet precious children, my family, and my friends, will Ganbaru by my side. I’m going to do my usual oversharing. I understand that some of you don’t know me as intimately as most so this might gross you out. Don’t worry if you need to bow out and block my feed for a few months. I will see you on the other side. And I am determined to do that – to get to the healthy side of summer. With you to keep me company on this journey, and Ganbaru and Hess Toughness…this shitty little disease hasn’t got a chance.

Ancient Chinese Seeclet…I Just Don’t Get It

18 Jun 2013 1 Comment

by Suelinhess in Bitching & Moaning, foie gras, Food, Healing, illness, Medical, Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

There is a very mature adult, deep inside my head, who insists on keeping my mouth out of trouble.  Some might consider it my Conscience, some might consider it the Voice of God, but I just see it just as a very little person.  Sometimes this little person has a big voice and sometimes a gentle whisper is all I need to close my mouth and smile.  Today, my little inner person screamed herself hoarse, stopping me from outright ridiculing a nice friend of mine.  Unfortunately, now that the little person has laryngitis, there’s a party going on in my head, and my mouth wants to dance on the speakers.  What I am about to write will surely offend many, but I just cannot help myself.

 

I was enjoying coffee with a visiting friend, this morning (we shall call her Betty), when her carpool partner joined us.  He is also a friend, and a co-worker of my husband.  Very nice man, about as whitebread as I can imagine a Canadian, with Scandinavian roots.  These roots are so strong, he named one of his sons Eric the Red (okay, it isn’t Eric the Red in real life, but a name so close, he might as well have named him Viking Boy).  I shall call this Scanadian Man Bob, to protect the innocent.  We all started discussing their visit to Jasper; my husband had rolled out the red carpet for them, catering all their meetings and hosting feasts at night.  Our Food and Beverage Team went above and beyond, creating drool-worthy meals.  Bob and Betty recalled the yummy food with closed eyes and dreamy voices.  But then, Bob said, “It was all so heavenly, but with my food sensitivities, you know, I really paid for it last night and today.”  I raised my eyebrows in concern and asked, “Food sensitivities?” And he said, “OH, nono, nothing like Celiac or allergies.  But you know mixing the hot foods and the cold foods, and you know, the hot kinds of foods just set me off, and I couldn’t sleep…”

 

This whole time, my eyebrows are still raised, and my jaw is slowly dropping open, as I realize that this tall white Canadian man is describing ancient Chinese food personalities.  I discretely brought my hand up to my chin to shut it quietly, as Bob proceeded to launch into his special relationship with his food.  He was very quick to point out that Chef had created such amazing delicacies, that he couldn’t resist eating it all.  But the discomfort he described afterwards, made it sound like there was a battle of the food divas in his tummy.  Eventually, we changed the subject, and started talking about little Eric the Red, and my daughter the Assassin – they are growing nicely and are poised to take over the world.

 

Long after Betty and Bob headed home, I puzzled over Bob’s latest diet trend. I pondered over this obsession people have with creating meaning from the unknown and manipulating things they just don’t understand.  Dying of the Black Plague and the monarchy has left you starving?  God will save you and punish the rich; you just have to pray pray pray, and give all your money to those less fortunate than yourself.  Don’t want to catch a cold?  Make sure you wear your cozy slippers so you don’t catch cold through the soles of your feet. Oh, and God Forbid you go outside with wet hair – you will catch pneumonia!  Well, if you do, we’ll just throw some leeches on you – the bloodletting will balance your humors…  

 

Granted, Asians are an old enough race that there are some tried and true remedies that even science has accepted.  But if I mention powdered bear gall bladders as a remedy for male impotence, all of you should roll your eyeballs along with me.  Some things are completely ridiculous.  

 

Asians aren’t the only ones with a corner on the Crazy Market.  My husband’s family is quite earthy-crunchy when it comes to medicines.  Rather than head to the doctor when coughing up green phlegm, they will try 42 different herbs and potions, all distilled into small vials of alcohol.  My sister-in-law came to visit us when we lived in California, and I wondered why her giant purse clinked when she moved.  It turns out she took a minimum of 6 different potions every hour – several drops of each.  And she said she was very nervous being in America so she also guzzled Burt’s Rescue Remedy too.  I mentally calculated the amount of alcohol in all her potions by the end of the day, and realized that it all seemed to work for her because it was the equivalent of several stiff drinks.  Well, DUH, I could have given you that prescription.  And years ago, I knew a man who went through a very painful cleanse just because his meditating yogi wife told him he would lose 30 lbs in intestinal blockage alone.  After a week of lemon juice and hot pepper water, I’m thinking he was not a fan of hot foods.  

 

So let’s get back to this hot foods cold foods thing (or the Yin and the Yang foods, as some put it).  According to Wikipedia (my main source for Asian information, as my Chinese mother is currently rolling over in her grave, filled with shame for her half-breed ignorant daughter), “Chinese food or Nutrition therapy, is a modality of traditional Chinese medicine. Central to this belief system is the idea that certain foods have a “hot” or heat-inducing quality while others have a “cold” or chilling effect on the body and its organs and fluids. An imbalance of this “heat” and “cold” is said to increase susceptibility to sickness or to directly cause disease itself. Such an imbalance is not necessarily related to the subjective feeling of being hot (tending toward sweating) or cold (tending toward shivering).

As an example, if one had a cold, or felt he was about to get a cold, he would not want to eat any “cold” foods such as a lemon, melon or cucumber. If one had a so-called “hot” disease, like Eczema, then he would not want to eat “hot” foods such as garlic, onions, or chocolate lest the “hot” disease is worsened. Indeed, it is thought by some that these “hot” or “cold” properties of foods are so intense that merely the eating of too many of one or another can actually cause diseases. For example, the eating of too many “hot” foods like chili peppers or lobster could cause a rash, or the eating of too many “cold” foods such as watermelon, or seaweed could cause one to develop stomach pain or diarrhea. In this way, this health system is in direct opposition to evidence-based medicine and the germ theory of disease (where microbes are described as the cause of many disease states).”  The article goes on to list different foods in a temperature table, showing the supposed side effects of consuming too much…for instance, my over-consumption of foie gras and other duck/goose related products, should give me hemorrhoids.  Well well well, my bottom is as smooth as the proverbial baby’s bottom. I am a walking miracle, then eh?   And how convenient for them that beer is listed as a Yin food, to counteract the dry fire effects of the Yang foods like chili peppers.  Who makes up this shit? Could it be that instead of the explanation for diarrhea after eating too much watermelon is NOT because it too much of a “cold” or Yin food, but because you are a PIG and too much fruit will give you the runs?  It’s all sugar and water, people!

So there you have it.  I am in turmoil.  The Chinese half of me is horrified that I have betrayed my roots and shamed my ancestors.  I actually flinch when I see movement in the corner of my eye, thinking it’s my mom reaching out from the grave to smack me upside my head.  When I do, the American half of me shakes her head and laughs.  SCIENCE.  We have SCIENCE to prove or disprove most of this. I will tell you what we do know.  Yes, there are chemicals in many herbal tinctures that are very helpful.  Yes, too much watermelon will give you the runs.  Yes, I take herbal supplements to help me with PMS, Hashimoto’s, and my immune system.  These herbal supplements have scientifically proven chemicals and properties that do more good than harm if taken in moderation.  But damned if I know whether or not my Evening Primrose Oil is a Yin or a Yang food.  Once again, I demonstrate that I am the Worst Chinese Person Ever, and that my inner white chick has the tiniest brain ever.  I just can’t open it up to let in this “food therapy.”  My idea of food therapy is a pan-seared slice of foie gras, with a few figs and a baguette.  Put that Yin my tummy, and Yang I’m happy! 

Domo Arigato, Dr. Hashimoto

17 Feb 2013 3 Comments

by Suelinhess in Hashimoto's Thyroiditis, illness, Medical, Thyroid Tags: , , , , ,

If you are old (as my children would put it), this will have you busting out your robot dancing and other foolish moves. For any fellow Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis victims out there, this will become your new theme song. Brain-fog, lethargy, FATNESS, and depression. That’s the rockin’ life we lead, even when treated, precisely because we are not robots and our bodies flux…especially as we age. woo to the hoo.

10 years ago, I had never even heard of Hashimoto’s Disease. My older sister had mentioned thyroid issues after her youngest child was born, but she lives all the way out in Australia, and busy me with my busy life must have been just too…busy…to pay enough attention. So time passes, and I’m around 40, and the family begins to tease me that I’m getting old, becoming absent-minded. I also notice that I am gaining weight, even though we eat healthily and exercise regularly. My hairbrush fills up with hair at an alarming rate, and I am cold all the time. And tired. Oh, so tired. There are days that I can barely get myself out of the bed, and no amount of coffee makes a difference. I would leave a room to go do something, and find myself in the hallway, reduced to tears because I didn’t know why I was there. I worried about dementia…Alzheimer’s… Finally, I take myself to the doctor, who orders blood tests and perkily tells me, “Looks like your thyroid is just not pulling its weight! Do you have thyroid issues in your family?” Do I? When I reached out to my extended family, my big sister gave me all the details of her battle with Hashimoto’s, and my father tells me that he’s been on a synthroid for years. YEARS. Yes. Communication with my dad is another issue to be discussed at a different time… So it turns out Hashimoto’s can run in families and after another round of blood tests for certain antibodies, I get to join the club. No green blazer, no membership card. Just Fat and Forgetful. Not the coolest club, to be sure.

There are all sorts of approaches to treatment for Hashimoto’s out there, from conventional synthroids, to nutritional changes, to incense and prayers (sorry, but that end of the spectrum is labeled KooKoo Land in my book). Normal hypothyroidism is very straightforward. Your thyroid is sluggish, underperforming, you just need to pop the right amount of synthroid and your hormone levels can theoretically reach a normal level. Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis is actually an autoimmune disease. You see, it is my own body, attacking my own thyroid, trying to kill it. On it’s own, my thyroid may have even had a chance to be normal and strong. Instead, it is under attack, and left untreated, would eventually be destroyed. In the olden days, I may have gone to bed and eventually never woken up, slipping into a myxedema coma. But here we are in the 21st century and modern medicine; problem solved, right? Yes…kinda. First, you have the immensely difficult task, in the beginning, of REMEMBERING to take the daily pill. Considering that memory loss is the #1 symptom of this dratted disease, it took me ages to get in the habit. The meds take some time to kick in – so a month of “oops, did I remember to take my pill?” plagued me. Blessedly, once the synthroid started to have some effect, I was relieved to find myself remembering that my contact lenses were, in fact already removed, so I could spare myself the painful digging around in my eye socket, searching for them. And I could climb the stairs in my house and remember, at the top, what it was I climbed them for. My children were especially relieved. I began using their names again, instead of the collective “Short People!” that I had resorted to calling them…The bad news is, some things are stubbornly sticking around, like the fat, and the constant feeling of being cold. The good news is, there is more energy to exercise, and I think peri-menopause is starting to send me hot flashes to combat the cold shivers. My body is a battlefield.

It’s been a few years since I was first diagnosed, and through regular blood tests and medication changes, my thyroid has been doing its best. I am still not normal, but the more I think about it, the more I wonder if I ever deserved that label in the first place. There are 7 pesky little nodules on my thyroid. I call them my 7 Dwarves. Every 6 months I have an ultrasound to make sure they aren’t growing. It always feels strange, after 3 lovely pregnancies, to go in for an ultrasound hoping that what we see is NOT growing. So far so good. And there is always the positive thought that even if the nodules do rise up and revolt, thyroid cancer is probably the cancer you want to get, if you have to get a cancer, as it is the easiest cancer to treat, and the most survivable. I can’t believe I just wrote something positive about the C word.

It’s slightly ironic, having a disease that I can’t forget about because it still bugs me on a daily basis, this forgetfulness. The brain fog is improved, but there are far too many moments when I say out loud, “what was I saying?” and all my friends and family just pat my hand and prompt me to continue. There are huge chunks of my past that I simply can’t recall. My children will ask, “remember when?….” and I draw a blank. Writing helps; I can return to precise moments in time by re-reading journal entries. And oddly enough, cooking helps. Certain smells can transport me to completely different countries, decades past. For instance, raw onions and salami? Flashback to the USSR in 1976. I’m in 2nd grade, my father and some Russian contacts are sitting at our dining table, drinking straight vodka, cutting hunks of salami, popping salty black olives, and biting whole white, raw onions,as if they were apples. The fumes go straight up my nose and make me oh so hungry for a taste. My eyes are watering from the cigarette smoke, and my ears ring with their bellows of drunken laughter.

My children are puzzled by my crystal clear memories of certain things, but my complete inability to remember everyday things, like picking them up from school, or the names of their friends (all the girls’ seem to have names that start with “K” – how confusing is that?!). My son, who is too young to have learned about Pavlov’s dogs in school, brightly suggested, “Hey Mama, maybe if we give you a cupcake every time you pick us up from school on time, you can get it right!” Okay, so I forget some important things. But I also forget some things that are too painful to hold on to. That smell of cigarette smoke? There is nothing I hate more. Cigarette smoke reminds me of chain-smoking, abusive parents, getting carsick on long rides, and Mom dying of lung cancer. No smoke, no memories. Fresh clean air and Hashimoto’s means fresh, clean slate in my brain. Hashimoto and I have a tentative truce. I let go of some of the good, and am grateful some of the bad goes with it. So sometimes I say it sarcastically, but sometimes sincerely, Domo Arigato, Dr. Hashimoto.

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